


Filling The Empty Spots

by Talvenhenki



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Aramis is not okay, Aramis really is not okay, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Savoy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 09:34:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21354100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talvenhenki/pseuds/Talvenhenki
Summary: “Why’d you leave?”“I didn’t.”“I saw you walk away. You left me alone.”***In which ghosts of Savoy still plague Aramis' mind but the two new musketeers seem to be filling the empty spot left by one of his most precious friends.
Relationships: Aramis | René d'Herblay & Porthos du Vallon
Comments: 16
Kudos: 52





	Filling The Empty Spots

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back to my musketeer shenanigans! Please enjoy the brand new story I wrote in a hurry because I needed it out of my system

“Why’d you leave?”

Marsac was sitting on the bed across Aramis’ in the room they’d shared ever since their first days in the regiment. Aramis wasn’t allowed to get up from his bed – not that he really even could – so he lay there, staring at his best friend in the whole world. Marsac was smiling at him, looking like he was ready to throw some brotherly jest at Aramis’ predicament. Aramis idly wondered when the last time was when he’d seen Marsac look so relaxed and peaceful – he’d been so agitated during the ride south.

“I didn’t”, Marsac said.

“I saw you walk away. You left me alone.”

Marsac frowned. Aramis felt like he was missing something, something very important that he had forgotten. He felt like there was something he shouldn’t have forgotten, and by forgetting it, he had betrayed Marsac who was frowning at him. It looked like Marsac was trying to remember something very hard, something like the name of the woman they’d met at the tavern. He looked so dumb that Aramis wanted to laugh at him, like he’d done every time Marsac had said something dumb.

“You did leave, though. When did you return?”

“I never left”, Marsac insisted. There was something odd in his voice and the way he spoke. It was so oddly _thin_. “I’ve been with you the whole time. I haven’t left your side since we rode out of the garrison.”

“Then someone else walked away. Did you see who it was?”

“No one else walked away, Aramis. They were all piled on the carriages.”

That was odd. Aramis couldn’t remember any carriages. His head felt empty, it was like the snow had entered his brain and just wiped out all the memories there. Aramis tried to remember carriages, but the only thing he could bring to his mind was Marsac walking away with murder in his eyes.

“You looked angry. Why?”

Marsac’s eyes softened and he cocked his head, smiling fondly at Aramis. Aramis remembered that smile, remembered all the moments in which Marsac had given him a smile like that, all the moments filled with joy and warmth.

“They hurt you”, Marsac whispered. His voice was almost paper-thin. “I couldn’t let them get away with it. I don’t like it when people hurt someone I care about. You know it better than anyone. You and the Red Guard I beat up that one night years ago.”

“Who hurt me?”

Marsac smiled, but Aramis could see the sadness right behind his tight lips. It was not like Marsac at all, to speak in riddles like that. He had always been an open book, a source of happiness to Aramis. He had held Aramis when he’d needed it and allowed Aramis to kiss him when he felt curious. He’d never purposely confuse Aramis like that.

“You don’t need to worry about that. I’ll find them and make them pay.”

The door opened and the captain walked inside. He had taken to checking on Aramis every few hours since Aramis had come back from Savoy. Treville had supervised Aramis’ recovery from the very beginning, ever since he’d picked Aramis up from the snowy woods. He looked at Aramis, stern as ever, probably to make sure that Aramis was still alive.

“Who were you talking to?” he asked, confusion clear in his voice. Aramis opened his mouth but froze when he looked up.

The bed across the room was empty.

* * *

Serge’s stew tasted like sand in his mouth. Aramis had been eating mostly just the watery draughts so far, and the meat in the stew felt so odd. He didn’t really want to eat the stew, though, since the taste was so bland and since he didn’t see any point in eating. But the new musketeer – _Porthos_, Aramis thought – looked so very happy to see Aramis eating that Aramis couldn’t just drop the bowl and let its contents spill all over the floor.

“You’re doing better than the last time I was here”, Porthos said and smiled at Aramis. “You’ve got some of your colour back. You look healthier.”

“I don’t feel much of a difference”, Aramis said.

“You’re eating, though”, Porthos said, “that’s a good sign.”

Aramis glared at him. He didn’t want the excited young man helping him, barging into his room every day with some new chore Aramis was supposed to perform. He didn’t have the appetite for the food and there was no sense going outside when the other musketeers would stare at Aramis like he was some exotic animal. He would get tired from just walking down the stairs, anyway.

To Aramis, there was no point in any of it, really.

“I’m full.”

The bowl was still half-full when Aramis placed it on the little table. He could see from Porthos’ expression that he’d eaten way less than Porthos had hoped, and in some horrible way, Aramis felt good about it. He felt good about still being able to fight back to something, even if it was just Porthos trying to help.

“You should eat more”, Porthos muttered but picked up the bowl nonetheless.

Aramis waited for Porthos to leave the room but instead he sat down on the opposite bed – on _Marsac’s_ bed – and looked at Aramis. It felt like Porthos was trying to measure Aramis by just staring at him, like the captain did to the new recruits.

“That’s Marsac’s bed”, Aramis said. He distantly noticed that he was trembling.

“He ain’t coming back. He won’t care who sits there.”

“He will come back; you just wait.”

“Would he have left you without saying anything if he was coming back?”

Aramis glared at Porthos once more and lay down, his back facing Porthos. He wanted Porthos to just go away so he could feel miserable in peace. Porthos didn’t even want to understand him; of course Marsac was coming back. He just had to take care of whatever mysterious assignment he had got before he could return.

“You can’t shut me out forever”, Porthos said and got up.

“I can try.”

Aramis heard Porthos getting up and leaving the room. He smiled when the door was shut, and he was left all alone in the room with his personal ghost sitting on the bed across the room. He almost liked his new companion.

* * *

Athos was an infuriating little shit. He’d just appeared to the garrison one day and claimed he’d want to be a musketeer. He couldn’t even hold up a pistol right word and he was always stinking of alcohol. Aramis hated his cocky attitude and the way he listened to no one but himself. Aramis hated the fact that he was suddenly the unofficial troublemaker of the garrison, taking up the space that had belonged to Aramis and Marsac before Savoy.

Aramis hated the new guy from the bottom of his heart.

Aramis was still only doing light work such as cleaning the weapons and helping Serge and the stable boys around. One evening he almost walked into Athos in the stables where Athos had been taking his horse – the horse on which he’d ridden into the garrison that one day. Aramis almost hated the horse as much as its rider even though the horse had never done anything wrong. Their eyes met and Aramis couldn’t stop the anger rising at his chest.

“What is it?” Aramis asked.

“What do you mean?” Athos asked, looking mildly confused. “I’m just bringing my horse back to the stables since he needs to rest after today.”

“Then why are you staring at me like that?”

Athos visibly flinched at Aramis’ tone. Aramis had been angry, almost ready to attack someone and at that moment Athos seemed like a good choice. He just wanted to shout at the world and its unfairness: why was he forced to live when better men had died at the same forest?

“You’re the one who survived the massacre, aren’t you? The one who is like a son to the captain?”

“You’re wrong”, Aramis muttered and covered his ears. He didn’t want to hear what Athos thought he was to Treville. Treville hadn’t, even once, tried to comfort Aramis after the massacre. He’d only made sure Aramis was alive. “I’m only a burden to the captain.”

“Then why does he get that sad look every time he looks at you? Why does he look so guilty every time you’re mentioned? Explain that to me.”

“Shut up”, Aramis muttered as he tried to block Athos’ voice. “You didn’t see what it was like. He’s sad because he lost twenty-one of his best men and only got me back to burden him. He’s sad because someone better than me didn’t make it back.”

Aramis was shaking and leaning on one of the wooden pillars supporting the stables. He hated the way Athos tried to pry his way into Aramis’ private life, how he tried to read Aramis like Aramis had been able to read Marsac like an open book. Aramis hated the way Athos tried to rip apart everything Aramis was used to. He just wanted to continue existing like normal, not have his whole life turned upside down.

“That can’t be right”, Athos said and walked his horse past Aramis. “The captain doesn’t keep hopeless causes here.”

“And what do you know about that?” Aramis asked. Athos turned around to look at him and smiled ruefully.

“I can’t think of any other reason why he’d keep me here.”

* * *

Porthos was being _overbearing_. He kept trying to understand, to make Aramis do things when he most certainly did not want to do them. He was in and out of Aramis’ room, bringing in food and water, cleaning up, talking to Aramis, not really leaving him alone. He was so positive and talkative that it irked Aramis almost more than Athos’ mere existence did.

“We should try to train our swordsmanship”, Porthos said as he was gathering the empty bowls from the little table. “I’d like to learn to shoot better too. They said you’re a great shot; maybe you could teach me?”

“No. I won’t teach you.”

Porthos looked up at Aramis and frowned. Aramis felt pleasure to see that Porthos didn’t know how to react to what Aramis had said.

“Why not?” Porthos asked.

“You just want to keep me moving and make me forget Savoy like that”, Aramis sad and stood up. “Well let me tell you something: I won’t forget Savoy. I _can’t_ forget it. I can’t forget being surrounded by twenty dead or dying musketeers who I couldn’t save no matter how hard I tried. So you can stop trying to make me forget it all. I’m never going to forget it.”

“Aramis, I didn’t –” Porthos began, but was interrupted by Aramis.

“No, I’m not done yet. If this is some kind of heavenly punishment for a failure, then I will suffer through it. But please stop trying to pretend like everything is fine because it’s not. We lost almost half of our regiment, Porthos! Some of us lost brothers. I lost one and his ghost is never going to leave me alone. In fact, he’s still quite cosy sitting on that bed!”

Marsac grinned at Aramis and waved at him. Aramis turned his head away and closed his eyes, trying to not see the ghost who was still plaguing the lonely hours spent in the room.

While Aramis was looking away, Porthos had placed the bowls back on the little table and walked over to Aramis. He cupped Aramis’ cheek and then, suddenly, pulled Aramis into a bone-crushing hug. Aramis shuddered and wrapped his own arms around Porthos, desperately gripping on the back of his shirt like a lifeline. Tears were streaming down his cheeks as he leaned on Porthos for comfort and safety. No one had tried to comfort him and Porthos’ hug had been the thing that had shattered the walls Aramis had built around himself to protect himself from all the pain.

“It’s alright, Aramis”, Porthos whispered. He was rubbing Aramis’ back with one of his hands and the other was massaging Aramis’ scalp in a way that Aramis simply loved. “It’s alright; I’m right here. You’re alive and safe. It’s alright.”

Aramis sobbed against Porthos’ shoulder. He tried to be as close to Porthos as he could, to find comfort within the man who’d been taking care of him even though he had been so very ungrateful to him. He was already regretting all the ways he’d hurt Porthos with his words, with his anger.

“I’m sorry”, Aramis whispered through his tears, “I’m so sorry, Porthos. Of course I’ll teach you. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright”, Porthos said and smiled at Aramis. “I’ll help you get rid of your ghosts. It’ll be alright.”

When Aramis later looked at the bed across the room, he noticed that it was empty. Only in the same evening it would be filled once again as Porthos moved his things to the room after getting permission from the captain to move rooms.

Aramis would forever be grateful for the new companion.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments warm my soul!


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